


Malcolm Tucker's Tweets

by Sue DeNym (baggyeyes)



Category: In the Loop (2009), The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Gen, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 08:47:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9314177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baggyeyes/pseuds/Sue%20DeNym
Summary: A bored Malcolm Tucker has been hearing his name bandied about and wants people to know what he thinks.





	

Malcolm sat at his small desk in his flat, the days of owning a house long past now…  
The laptop was open and the browser he had open (several tabs open, actually) but one he stared at. He’d seen tweets crying out ‘We need Malcolm back!’ or ‘Malcolm, save us!’  
He could not just let that shit go on. But he hated Twitter, and Facebook. And Tumblr and well, all of those instant fucking gratification sites, one click and you’re done supporting a fucking cause of the day. He hissed through his teeth, drummed his fingers on the desk. 

Then Malcolm opened a text editor and typed out something he saved as his ‘manifesto,’ and from there went into Twitter to try to create an account. 

“Fuck me! I’m all over the place. Jesus Christ.” After using his full name plus the year 2016, he finally acquired his very own, goofy (in his eyes) Twitter account.

And so he started his tweets. He’d seen Jaime’s tweets, where the wee thing would start with one tweet then reply to it over and over to create his own thread. The lingo, frankly, irritated Malcolm. But now he understood the concept.

Fucking thing.

That was when he came up against the 140 character limit.

~*~  
  
It has been brought to my attention that in the wake of the Brexit vote, many feel Great Britain has been fucked by a crowd of droopy clowns  
  
Many want me to say something.  
  
After much consideration, I have decided to present my own statement on the matter. So, in opening, I would like to say FUCK OFF.  
  
What do you mean, you voted but believed they would not count your vote? You do know that’s what they do with votes, right?  
  
Fucking count them, to see who or what gets more votes. So yes, your vote does fucking count. There’s no such thing as test vote rounds.  
  
What were you thinking? What were you doing? Sniffing your own farts and getting high?  
  
Then there are the England for English or Britain for British voters or whatever the fuck they call themselves.  
  
Fucking Twitter and the 140 rule.  
  
You, the Leave voters, you are first in fucking line now.  
  
because if your dream is taken to the extreme and all the immigrants leave GB, there goes a FUCKING LOAD of fucking taxes with them.  
  
Then, you’ll just have to accept that your taxes will go up to pay for your fucking witless whitetopia.  
  
Who the FUCK designed this?!  140 fucking characters 140 fucking lashes you fucking cunts  
  
Think of all the miserable fucking jobs you twats will have to take on at a pay rate you won’t like,  
  
because the people who would have taken those fucking jobs were forced out of the country by YOU. TWATS.  
  
No, you’re worse than that. DRIPPY FUCKING USELESS TWATS, that’s what you are. Put your fucking nappies on!  
  
Next, the people who didn’t actually vote but went on Twitter or on their fucking blogs or Fucking Facebook or Tumblefuck to remind everyone  
  
how important it was that a particular side should win.  
  
Well, guess what? FUCK OFF. I don’t even have to tell you why.  
  
To those of you who did vote and are dismayed by the racist rhetoric disguised as immigration reform  
  
I say this: Stop being fucking quiet bat people.  
  
Don’t just say to yourself in your darkened home, as you hide from the world watching the telly and eating fucking sweets …  
  
…‘oh dear, that’s awful what they’re saying’. Of course it’s fucking awful!  
  
Fucking hacks will record sweet faced old racists saying they don’t want darkies around anymore, but where are the fucking quiet bat people?  
  
The so-called good people of Great Britain? They’re being quiet and they are hiding.  
  
Yell and scream at the fucking racists  
  
Why do you leave it to the people racism is happening against? Nobody is going to fucking listen to them. Jesus Christ.  
  
Listen, you don’t need me, Dorothy. The politicians are imploding from their own toxic shit. The drippy clowns have shot their load.  
  
FUCK. This is fucking irritating.  
  
You need to stop tweeting, right?  Start writing actual letters on actual paper  
  
 fax or mail it to your member of parliament, to your local repository of hacks AKA the newspapers.  
  
Make a fucking sign if you want and hang it around your neck. I don’t care.  
  
You want something good to come out of this mess, you have to be louder than the other guy.  
  
Or not; maybe you can tut-tut from the fucking sidelines  
  
watch the actual fucking bullies actually kick real people in the fucking nuts.  
  
Or in the fucking head. Video it with your iPhone! Be a fucking bat person.  
  
Come back and help you? Fuck no.  
  
Jesus Christ.  
  
I’d rather go to the United States and work for the world’s ugliest sex doll.  
  
That’s a joke and do I have to tell you I would never work for something that looks like a mutant escapee from the womb of doom?  
  
No, I will not come back. You are, my lovely little wankers, on your own.  
  
  
  
Addendum  
  
Listen, I am curious about the extent of the complaints against immigration.  
  
It’s just something that’s been gnawing on me like a toothless hooker, yeah?  
  
So, yes, there’s the whole Syrian refugee crisis and how they’re swamping the borders blah blah blah.  
  
Can I take it to mean the leave campaigners wanted to curtail any kind of immigration, or immigration of a specific kind?  
  
Will you block people from India arriving to take a position at say, a design shop?  
  
A programmer from Ukraine can’t come in to join a tech company that finds it needs people of a certain skill set?  
  
How about a specialist in cancer treatment from South Africa?  
  
What about families from Syria?  
  
Are you honestly going to tell me people running from explosions and gunfire terrify you?  
  
Also, if anybody has no fucking business complaining about people from other countries flooding in,  it’s fucking England.  
  
Fucking Twitter!  I didn’t want to paint men & women…  
  
…with the label cunt when it’s clear only one side actually has their own cunts & knows how to use them …  
  
…while the other is comprised of cunts, as such functions without any thoughts whatsoever, just dribbling nonsense from their lips.  
  
I regrettably had to delete a section on racists  
  
how 90% of racists are on the dole,  and I assume 10% of racists have jobs.  
  
As I pulled the number out of my ass, I removed the section. That doesn’t mean the theory is incorrect.  
  
I decided on Twitter as a medium not because I like it, but I would rather chew my own cock off than blog about anything.  
  
Also, did you know bloggers are mutated shit that crawled out of hacks toilet bowls when they forgot to flush?  
  
The shit then went on to start a blog to talk about politics, world issues, Doctor Who and what they ate that morning, which was shit.  
  
I rejected Tumblr largely for the same reason, but also because of the inane memes starring Sean Bean.  
  
Releasing a statement on Facebook is like a fucking 70 year-old man trying to appear cool and hip to his 20 year-old girlfriend.  
  
A press conference is out of the fucking question and I’m not faxing any of the lazy fucking hacks either. So Twitter it is.  
  
I fucking hate Twitter. Would 240 characters have killed you Twitter?  
  
This one fucking statement is in multiple parts.  
  
Which is how I left I left O.R one day after he leaked something he really should not have, and  
  
  
Malcolm stopped and stared at what he’d written. The times he’d railed against the fucking 140 character fucking limit he had thought he’d blame it on his assistant. He didn’t have one at the moment. He felt sick inside. Twitter! 

“Well, fuck you all, anyway.”

Malcolm hunted around the settings for his account and pressed delete.


End file.
